


mondscheinsonate (a pocketful of sunshine)

by iridescence (10softbot)



Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Neighbors, Humor, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Meet-Cute, Misunderstandings, Piano, Strangers to Lovers, graduate school references
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-10
Updated: 2021-02-10
Packaged: 2021-03-16 19:35:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,840
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29337669
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/10softbot/pseuds/iridescence
Summary: Chan knows how to recognize a score from miles away, even if it has been years since he last touched a piano; his eyes quickly scan the printed out notes and the messily scribbled notes on the margins of the paper.And then it clicks.In his quest to meet the mysterious pianist in his building, Chan finds sunshine between classical music sheets and late night texts.
Relationships: Bang Chan/Lee Felix
Comments: 5
Kudos: 104





	mondscheinsonate (a pocketful of sunshine)

**Author's Note:**

> i've been wanting to write an au for this entire situation for like a year now? based on true events that happened to me, only i still don't know who in my building owns a piano and i don't think i ever will.
> 
> **don't repost or translate without permission**

Chan really thinks he should start reconsidering his life choices when it comes to grocery shopping. He has known, for as long as he has lived in his neighborhood, that Friday nights are the worst to do so – all the stores are seemingly packed with mothers who don’t seem to have time otherwise to be there, making the waiting in line process twice as long as it usually is. Chan doesn’t really mind waiting in line if it means he gets to eat something other than rice and eggs, but Changbin—

Well, Changbin _hates_ it.

Next to him, Chan watches as Changbin unlocks his phone, scrolls through his apps, locks it again and shoves it back into his pocket. It is the third time in five minutes he does it, frustrated at the wait and the lack of activity on his phone to keep himself distracted. Changbin heaves a sigh – _again_ – and Chan almost wants to tell him to go wait in the car.

Instead, he chuckles.

“Don’t laugh,” Changbin punches him in the arm, flinching when Chan threatens to punch him back. “If I knew you had shopping to do I’d have rescheduled our get-together for another day.”

“That’s exactly why I didn’t tell you,” he says, finally moving in line when the mother in front of them brings her toddler to her arms to push the shopping cart out of the way. “You’ve been postponing it for the past month.”

Changbin is silent for a second. “Okay, yes, you’re _right,”_ he says, “but did you have to leave the shopping for today? Of all days? There’s a reason Minho and I never do it on Fridays, and it’s because,” he gestures vaguely to the packed store, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Are you gonna prepare my classes for me?” Chan asks with a raise of his brow, moving along to start putting his items on the belt. He takes Changbin silence as a no. “Yeah, didn’t think so. We’re almost done, just relax.”

Changbin rewards himself by pulling a beer from the pack before Chan slams the trunk of his car shut, and Chan makes it up to him by letting him connect his phone to the Bluetooth of his car and choose a playlist. The ride home isn’t a long one, but it takes them around five songs to get to his building, the traffic during jam time absolutely terrible.

Chan parks as close to the entrance as he can, mindful of both Changbin’s complaining at how “really fucking heavy” the bags are and “why don’t you use plastic bags like a normal person,” as well as his tired back from a week of lecturing.

“You know I’m trying to reduce the waste I produce,” he says as he opens the trunk and Changbin starts complaining again. “I’m also not gonna pay extra for bags if I can avoid it. Budgeting has been hard, man.”

“Cut back on the heater a couple times a week, I’m telling you,” Changbin groans as he hangs one bag on each shoulder, straightening up his back.

“Excuse me,” Chan scoffs, slamming the trunk shut and locking his car. _“You_ have someone to warm up your bed, I _do not.”_

Changbin gives him a sly smile but doesn’t say anything else, his smile widening when Chan shoulders him aside. They start making his way inside when something catches Chan's attention; he stops dead on his tracks, ears perking up as the soft tunes of a piano playing start trickling down from one of the open windows of his building. Changbin turns around when he notices Chan is no longer following, giving him a look with the raise of a brow.

Chan brings his finger up to his lips, commanding him to be quiet as he walks to his right, trying to find the source from where the music is playing. He motions for Changbin to follow him and Changbin is hesitant to do so, though he ends up following him anyway, letting out an annoyed sigh.

“What is it, man?” Changbin asks, and Chan quickly hushes him. Changbin drops his voice to a whisper when he says, “come on, these bags are really fucking heavy.”

“Do you hear it?” Chan asks, stopping under a set of windows and looking up. The music is faint enough that he knows it isn’t coming from the first or second floors, but nothing further than that. Changbin perks up at the question and nods after a while. “This isn’t the first time I hear it. It usually happens later at night, and I’ve never been able to figure out who it is.”

“Is this a real piano playing?” Changbin asks, eyes bulging with curiosity.

“I’m pretty sure it is,” Chan whispers back, straightening himself and nudging Changbin so they can walk back. “It doesn’t sound recorded, at least.”

Up from Chan's floor, the music sounds fainter than it does from the garage, but they can still hear it. Changbin helps him put the groceries away, and after he is settled on the couch with yet another beer, Chan excuses himself for a shower and a fresh change of less stuffy clothes. When he is off and with a beer of his own, the music has long stopped.

He plops down on the couch next to Changbin, where the other flips through the channels on the tv. Changbin settles on a movie neither pay attention to, body fully turning on the couch so he can face Chan, giving him a quizzical look.

“What?”

“You tell me what,” Changbin kicks him lightly and sips on his beer. “You were acting all weird just now.”

“I wasn’t being weird,” Chan reasons. “It is perfectly normal to get curious when you know someone in your building has a whole piano.”

“Right,” Changbin says, not really buying it, and Chan can’t even argue because it really is as simple as that. “Does this happen a lot? It sounded nice, but I think it’d drive me crazy.”

Chan shrugs. “It happens sometimes. Between grad school and lecturing, I’m not home much so I wouldn’t know. It’s always the same set, though, and usually closer to ten.”

Changbin hums in acknowledgement, and the night bounces between comfortable chatter and moments of quiet. Chan knows Changbin is just as tired as he is, even if he tries his best not to show it. It feels nice to have someone over for a change, filling the silence in the usual empty spaces of his apartment.

Chan knows he falls asleep on the couch at some point, maybe when Changbin is telling him about the new addition to Minho’s sleeve. If Changbin is mad at him over it, he makes sure not to mention it.

• • •

Chan is running on his fourth cup of coffee after dinner when it happens again. He is sitting in his office, with his laptop open and dozens of papers scattered on his desk as he grades them, his eyes feeling so dry it almost hurts to blink. He chances a glance at the clock, shocked to find it is already well past midnight when the melancholic piano music starts playing again.

He pushes himself off his chair, grabs his still steaming cup and perches himself on the windowsill, trying to get a better listen of the song. Chan closes his eyes, allows the chilly fall wind to blow against his skin as the sad piano keys are played for him floors below his. His muscles ache from stress, mind tired from working so much, and he thinks he could easily fall asleep if it weren’t for all the caffeine running in his system – and the fact that he is perched on his window and falling would result in a terrible death.

The soft tune then changes to a brighter one and Chan feels a bit more alert. It almost feels like being thrown right back into spring, with flowers blooming between the cracks on the sidewalk. He sips on his coffee, trying to picture the person sitting on the piano, playing such pretty melodies so late at night.

Then the tune changes again and Chan feels taken up by a storm. The writing is completely different than the first two and he finds himself putting his coffee down and reaching for his phone. He opens his contacts list and immediately calls Changbin, hoping he is going to pick up.

On the third ring, he does.

_“Hello?”_ Changbin's voice is raspy on the other end of the line. Chan perches himself on the windowsill again.

“I’m going crazy,” the song is almost haunting in the dead of the night. “I need to know who it is.”

_“What?”_ Changbin clears his throat. _“What are you talking about?”_

“The piano,” he breathes out. “It’s happening again.”

_“Chan, it’s literally one in the morning and you called me to say this?”_ Chan is only half-heartedly paying attention, really, but he can still hear the rustling of sheets and soft grumbling in the background. _“I thought something urgent had happened, you fucking dick.”_

“It is urgent!” he knows it isn’t, but he feels he might as well die if he doesn’t find out who it is.

Minho’s voice gets louder as he complains, and Chan is well aware of what is going on, but now he just kind of want to fuck with his friends. Changbin goes silent for a moment, and when his breath comes out shaky, Chan has to hold himself back from laughing.

Changbin groans. _“I’m hanging up.”_

Chan gasps, feigning offense. “I can’t believe you’re ditching me to suck dick.”

_“Yes,”_ Changbin says and the line goes dead.

He chuckles, dropping his phone back on the desk and focusing on the music again. The city is quiet below him, streetlights too bright as the city sleeps. He wonders if anyone else in the building is awake to hear their neighbor play, wonders if anyone else has picked up on it and anticipates the day they are going to play again.

It feels like both an eternity and too soon when the keys fade to an end and he finds himself forced to sit back down and finish grading his papers. There is still quite a handful left, and he knows that if he still wants to catch some sleep tonight he should definitely get back to work. He stretches his back, cracks his knuckles, and sits back down.

That night, Chan falls asleep over his papers and dreams of a faceless figure, a grand piano, and a very dark spring night.

• • •

Chan isn’t _too_ terrible with faces.

He is quick to notice when someone seems familiar and tries his very best to remember where he knows them from. He has definitely gotten better since he got into grad school and started teaching, especially when his students see him out and about and insist on greeting him – which is, thankfully, not too often, but it still happens.

Chan thinks he knows his current class the best, though he is still very terrible at linking names to faces and all that. He can recognize his students around campus and the hallways, even when they insist to look the other way. All this to say – he is really caught off guard when he sees one of his students dashing out of his own apartment building in a hurry.

He is getting back home from class when they almost run into each other. Chan is the one to move out of the way – the boy doesn’t really see him, too busy trying to wrap a red scarf around his neck while rummaging through the bag slung across his chest at the same time. He feels stunned for a moment, turns on his heels and follows the boy out of the gate with his eyes.

Chan knows it is him, because the boy has one of the most striking features he has ever seen. There really is no mistaking his eyes and full lips, and certainly not the long, bleached blond hair that falls almost down to his shoulders. Chan watches him until he is out of sight, seemingly glued his spot by the entrance of the building.

_Huh,_ his brain unhelpfully supplies as it finally starts kicking into gear again. Does he know someone who lives there? Chan has never really seen people around his age in the building, so maybe it is his parents? The boy is long gone when Chan is finally able to shake himself off and snap out of it.

He turns back around, ready to resume his walk to the elevator, when the universe seems to stall him a second time. This time, however, he full on bumps into someone else on their way out of the elevator, and he can’t help but curse under his breath as the impact knocks him back a couple steps. Chan doesn’t get the worst end of it, though – he watches, through horror-filled eyes, as a stack of papers is sent flying into the air and then straight to the floor.

“Shit,” he says, already feeling terribly sorry. He knows how terrible it is to have all your things scattered around and not being able to do anything about it. “I’m so fucking sorry, oh my god.”

He doesn’t have time to assess the boy in front of him, quickly bending down to pick the papers back up. The boy bends down as well, faster than the does, hands quick to gather the papers and pull them closer to his feet.

“Don’t—” the boy starts and then clears his throat. “Don’t touch them.”

Chan doesn’t seem to listen. “It’s okay, I got you.”

He helps the boy gather the papers as best as he can, feeling the back of his neck burn a little in embarrassment. It takes a minute for Chan to register what’s right in front of him – he had thought these were only regular assignments, but as his eyes start scanning the paper sheets he realizes how wrong he had been. He knows how to recognize a score from miles away, even if it has been years since he last touched a piano; his eyes quickly scan the printed out notes and the messily scribbled notes on the margins of the paper.

And then it clicks.

“Wait,” he mutters mostly to himself, eyes snapping up to the boy. Though his bleached bangs cover his eyes, Chan can still see the bright red tint on the boy’s face, freckles dotting his skin, can see the way his fingers slightly shake as he quickens up the gathering of his papers. “Wait, you—"

“I have to go,” the boy quickly interrupts, crumpling his music sheets in his haste to straighten himself up. Chan's brain is a second too late to catch up, and before he has the opportunity to say anything else, the boy is dashing through the entrance and out of the building.

Chan blinks once, twice, and gets back up on his feet. For the second time that afternoon he stands there, probably looking completely stupid, watching as someone hurries away from him. This can’t possibly have just happened.

Once he is home and showered, Chan sinks into his couch and immediately calls Changbin. The phone rings, and rings, and rings, and when the call goes to voice mail, Chan curses under his breath and hangs up. He wonders if Changbin is busy in the studio with a client and decides to send him a text asking him to return the call as soon as possible.

He is halfway through typing his message when the screen switches to an incoming call, Changbin's name on the screen. Chan can’t help but sigh in relief.

_“Yo, Bang Chan,”_ it is definitely not Changbin's voice on the other end of the line, but it still makes Chan smile.

“Minho! It’s been a while,” he greets, pulling his feet up on the couch. “Is Changbin around? I need to talk to him about something.”

_“Yeah,”_ Minho says, _“he’s cleaning the bathtub right now. Anything I can help you with?”_

Chan hums, pensive. “Can you put me on speaker?”

_“Sure, one second,”_ Minho says and pulls away from the phone. Chan can hear him walk through the apartment, can hear Changbin curse shortly before Minho says Chan's on the phone, and then the call quality changes as Changbin parrots Minho’s _“yo, Bang Chan!”_

“It’s really gross how you guys do this,” Chan says with a laugh. “I know you’re busy right now but I need you to know I found him.”

_“Huh?”_ the sound of vigorous scrubbing stops for a second, and Chan can almost see Changbin frowning at his phone. _“Him who?”_

“The pianist!” it’s not like he had been looking for someone else. “We bumped into each other today.”

_“Oh!”_ the scrubbing returns, followed by Minho mumbling directions at him. _“Did you talk to him?”_

“Uh,” Chan scratches the back of his head. “Not really, no. He stormed off before I even had the chance to say anything.”

The scrubbing stops, resumes again, the sound of a slight slap and Minho curses into the phone. _“Well, do you know which apartment he lives in, at least?”_

“Also no,” Chan groans, starting to realize that this whole thing might as well have not happened at all. “I’m still, like, as clueless as I was? But at least I know what he looks like now.”

_“Did you know that you can be really useless sometimes?”_ Changbin adds and Minho snickers. _“What would you do without me?”_

“Live a peaceful life,” Chan says, laughing when Changbin curses at him.

_“We need to come up with a plan,”_ Changbin says, running the water on the bathtub for a while and then turning it off. He can hear him and Minho kiss over the phone, hears the sink faucet run as Changbin washes his hands, and when he speaks again, the echoing from speaker mode is gone. _“Here’s what we’re gonna do.”_

• • •

Chan isn’t a creep.

This is what he tells himself, over and over again, as he sits in his car and waits. The sun has long set, the city lights lighting up through the rearview mirror of his car. He heaves yet another sigh, slotting his fingers in the gap of his thighs in hopes to warm up his hands without the help of a heater.

He thinks he should stop listening to Changbin so often, if only that means he won’t feel so weird by simply sitting in his car. Not that he is _only sitting in his car,_ truth be told, because he really wants to meet piano boy again, so it isn’t all too bad. It _shouldn’t_ be all too bad.

Matter of fact is, he has been waiting for at least a couple hours now. As the temperature drops and the clock ticks closer to ten, Chan starts considering just how stupid of an idea this this – that is, until he sees movement in the rearview mirror, and a quick glance at it is enough to wash all his worries away.

Chan isn’t a creep, and that is exactly what he tells himself as he exists his car and steps into the parking lot just seconds before the blond boy reaches the parking spot right behind his. He locks his car and turns on his heels, a smile plastered on his face as the boy almost bumps into him again. Chan eyes the plastic bags in his hold, and in the split second it takes the boy to look up from the floor to his face, he decides to get his plan going.

“Oh, hi! It’s you!” he says, chipper despite how late it is getting, or like he hasn’t been waiting for this very moment for far too long. “Can I help you with these?”

Chan is pointing at his bags, and as he studies his face, he thinks he can see a faint blush creeping onto his cheeks. The boy coughs, stumbles a couple steps back, and almost looks taken by surprise.

“Uh,” the boy clears his throat again, and if Chan thought better of it, it would look like he is trying to hide himself behind the scarf wrapped around his neck. “It’s fine, honestly.”

“No, come on,” Chan insists, grabbing half of his bags and relieving the weight on his shoulders. “It’s cool.”

“Oh,” the boy lets out, casting his eyes to his shoes, almost like he doesn’t know what to say. “Thanks.”

“It’s what neighbors are for,” Chan offers with his warmest smile. “Lead the way?” And it’s not like he doesn’t know the very building he lives in, but the boy does so with a shy smile, so he can’t really call himself out for it. Maybe he should. It almost sounds like an afterthought when he tacks on a “I’m Chan, by the way,” just as the elevator doors ding open.

“Felix,” the other says, pressing the fourth floor button. Chan repeats the name in his head a couple times, wanting to hear his own voice saying it but unwilling to seem even weirder than he already does.

The ride up to his floor is a silent and awkward one, but Felix doesn’t start up conversation, so Chan figures he shouldn’t either. He quietly trails after him towards his apartment, taking note of the unit number on the door as Felix presses his lock code in. The apartment is quiet as Felix hits the lights, not another trace of life in it, and Chan wonders if Felix lives alone.

“You didn’t have to,” Felix says, voice soft as he puts his bags on the kitchen counter. “Thanks, though.”

“It’s no biggie,” Chan brushes it off, putting the bags he took from him next to the other ones on the counter. He takes a couple steps back, putting some space between them so as to not make Felix uncomfortable. “That’s a lot of bags you’ve got there.”

“Ah, yes, we—” Felix scratches the back of his head. “We’ve ran out of food for a couple days now.”

Chan does a quick sweep of the apartment around him; the grand piano, tucked into a corner of the living room, catches his attention first, shiny and begging to be looked at. Apart from the papers scattered on top of the piano and the grocery bags on the counter, the apartment barely looks lived in. Chan can’t really tell who Felix means by _we._

“You play?” he asks, pointing at the piano, and he knows it’s a really stupid question considering the piano is _right there_ in his living room, as well as the scores that were scattered on the floor just the other day. He figures still asking won’t hurt.

Felix _flushes,_ almost looking like he is embarrassed to have been caught. Chan honestly thinks it is quite adorable.

“I do, yeah,” Felix unwraps the scarf from around his neck, making his way back to the front door to hang it on a hook bolted to the wood. “I’ve played since I was little.”

Chan doesn’t want to comment he still seems very little to him, because that would be a jab at his own lack in the height department. He notices how Felix gazes at the piano with adoration in his eyes, and under the artificial lights of his apartment, the freckles scattered on his face seem darker than they did days before.

“You must be good, then!” he adds with a smile, heart fluttering a little when the tips of Felix's ears redden just a bit further. “Is it you I can hear playing sometimes?”

Felix looks taken aback. _“I—_ ah, it must be,” he fidgets with the sleeves of his coat, avoiding eye contact. “Fuck, sorry, I didn’t realize it would be that loud.”

“No, it’s okay!” Chan says, waving his hands in front of himself in a dismissive way. “Really. I actually really like it.”

“Oh,” Felix blinks. “Wow, thanks? Again, I’m sorry for the noise, I just—I need to practice for an upcoming play, and studio time sometimes isn’t enough.”

“Oh, shit,” it finally dawns on him that he has probably overstayed his welcome for far too long, and Felix is either too polite or too awkward to send him away. “I should get out of your hair, then.” He quickly stalks to the door, making sure to give Felix his best smile. “It was really nice meeting you, Felix.”

“Thanks for the help,” Felix smiles just as brightly, pointing back towards the kitchen area, “with the groceries, and stuff. You really didn’t have to.”

“I’ll see you around?”

Felix nods, smile unfaltering. “I’d like it if we did.”

He waves Felix goodbye, heart beating a little too loudly in his chest when the door softly clicks shut behind him. Chan makes his way back to his apartment, skin buzzing with excitement to finally have a face and a name for the person who unknowingly keeps him company at night. As he sits on his office desk to work on his readings for grad school, music starts bleeding in through the open window once again.

This time, he no longer has to wonder who it is.

He sends Changbin a quick message – a simple _it worked_ with a crying emoji – and tucks his phone away for the night.

• • •

Chan comes to realize his schedule hardly ever matches with Felix’s.

That is probably a lie, if he is being honest, because it’s not like he is out of the house much for things other than classes and lectures, so it’s not like he could _know._ Still, it is weeks after Chan officially introduced himself, and he only happened to bump into the freckled boy twice at very odd hours of the day.

What he does know, however, is which door to knock on if he wants to find the boy again. It is with that thought in mind that Chan makes a detour to the store after his lecture and grabs a bottle of wine – not expensive by any means but not too cheap either; decent enough that even not frequent drinkers wouldn’t think it tastes bad. Or so he hopes.

He makes himself a sandwich in lieu of a proper dinner, takes a shower, changes into clean clothes and then he is out the door again. He tries not to feel too giddy as he makes his way down, but he also can’t help but smile to himself as the elevator doors ding open and the hallway leading to Felix's door stares back at him. The bottle feels a little heavy in his hold and as he moves forward, his slides almost seem to glue onto the floor.

He takes a deep breath, runs a hand through his hair, and rings the doorbell.

It only takes a few seconds for the door to creak open, and the sight of Felix in casual clothes is nearly enough to break something in his brain. Felix looks surprised to see him, to say the least; his eyes flit from Chan's face to the bottle in his hand and then back to his face, lips falling open to form the cutest oval shape Chan has ever seen. Chan is quick to collect himself, tacking on a smile for good measure.

“Hey there, neighbor!” he greets with a wave of his free hand. “Mind if I bother you tonight?”

“Of course,” Felix answers a bit too quickly, then backtracks with a shake of his head. “I mean, _yes,_ yeah. Sure. Come in.”

He steps aside enough for Chan to pass through, closing the door behind him. Chan slips out of his slides and follows Felix when he makes his way into the kitchen, placing the bottle of wine on the counter.

“I hope I’m not interrupting you,” Chan says. It is the second time he invites himself over, but this time around Felix doesn’t seem as awkward as he had been the first time. He will count this as a win. “I’d have texted you to ask, but—” he gestures vaguely at nothing.

“It’s fine, don’t worry about it. I’m just—” Felix gestures at the steaming ramen cup on the counter, the metal chopsticks stabbed into it. “Finishing dinner.”

“Dinner,” Chan repeats. “Are you out of food again?”

“Oh, not really,” Felix grabs the chopsticks and stirs the cup’s content around. “I just need to practice and don’t really have time to cook.”

Chan bites the inside of his cheek, thinking.

“Let me make you something, then,” he says. Felix looks like he is about to refuse the offer, so he quickly adds, “nothing fancy! As a thanks for letting me come over?”

Felix sighs. “Fine. There’s stuff in the fridge and in these cupboards,” he points at the ones nearest to Chan's head. “You’re a life saver,” he says through a mouthful of noodles, and it makes Chan laugh.

“Oh, I’m _definitely_ gonna woo you with my cooking skills,” Chan jokes, ignoring the way Felix chokes on his food as soon as the words are out of his mouth. “Just go and do your thing, this shouldn’t take too long.”

Chan thinks he hears Felix say _sure_ in between coughs, but he can’t really tell. When he said nothing fancy, he really did mean it – he would never classify himself as a chef for making fried rice for two, but he guesses it will do for the night when neither of them have had proper meals. Felix goes into the living room after throwing his chopsticks into the sink, and not wanting to bother him any further, it takes Chan a hot minute to figure out where Felix keeps his pots and pans and all the cutlery needed.

His stomach grumbles over the sound of the sizzling pan and Chan prays it wasn’t loud enough that Felix heard all the way from the living room. The apartment isn’t big, but a man can dream. When Felix hits the first keys to check if the piano is still in tune and doesn’t say a word about it, Chan feels he can breathe a little easier.

He serves the rice on two bowls, skin buzzing as the familiar notes of the song he usually hears Felix play sound through the apartment. Felix flashes him a smile as he sets the bowl and a spoon on top of the piano, muttering a low _thanks_ that seems to resonate within him. Chan can’t shake off the feeling.

“Do you want some wine?” Chan asks, quickly looking away and padding back into the kitchen. The music suddenly stops and he fears he has said something wrong.

“Ah, I can’t tonight,” he turns just in time to see Felix give him an apologetic smile. “Practice, and all. But feel free to! I don’t have wine glasses, though, so I hope a mug can suffice.”

And it does. Chan settles on the couch, mug between his thighs and bottle by his feet, and keeps to himself as he watches Felix get into it. It takes him a few tries until he is unstuck from the very beginning of the song; to Chan, it sounds perfect, but he is sure it isn’t the same to someone who seems to play the instrument as professionally as Felix does.

It is entrancing, endearing even, to watch Felix get into his element, and though they don’t know each other that well – or at all – it makes Chan feel like he has known him for too long. There is something terribly intimate in the way Felix bares his soul and pours it into each and every key his fingers glide on, the way his eyelids flutter shut and then it’s all muscle memory from there. Chan feels more exposed than Felix likely does, feels like he is seeing something he shouldn’t.

Like he is catching a glimpse of heaven that the human eye isn’t allowed to see.

He knows he has an embarrassing crush on his neighbor that he hardly knows, but Felix taking him in and adapting around him so easily doesn’t really seem to make his case any better. He doesn’t know how this went from a quest to find the anonymous pianist to sitting in his very apartment, getting the chance to watch him play one-on-one, but he can’t say he is too mad about it.

Chan is halfway through the bottle when Felix takes a break to nibble on his food. He doesn’t turn around, doesn’t say a word, only puts his bowl down again and goes straight back to playing. Chan wonders how often he does this – forgoes eating to get more practice time.

Chan wonders just how many hours a day he sits down to do this. It can’t be that many, seeing as Felix has mentioned studio time sometimes isn’t enough, and it really isn’t that often he gets to hear him play through his open windows. Still, as Felix pauses and flexes his fingers, rolls his wrists and his neck, Chan can’t help but wonder how much muscle pain he puts himself through just to do what he enjoys.

He is well done with his wine by the time Felix stops playing. Felix heaves a sigh, gathers all his music sheets, and Chan is only a little horrified when he stretches his limbs and all his joints seem to crack.

“That was— _wow,”_ is all Chan is able to say for a moment. His cheeks are warm and his lids are heavy, and maybe his entire body feels like it has permanently sunk into the couch over the course of the last couple hours, but he tries to gather better thoughts than _that._ “Amazing. Brilliant. What is it that you’re playing?”

“Beethoven,” Felix says with a sigh, turning around to look at him. “Sonata number fourteen— it’s still not perfect,” he shakes his head, rubbing his tired eyes with the heels of his hands.

“Well, it sounded pretty perfect to me.”

Chan flushes deeper at his own words, the tips of Felix's ears coloring just the same.

“Thanks,” he says, suddenly quiet. “It’s just the third movement that really gets me. There are so many broken chords that, if I’m not paying enough attention, I can easily fuck it up.”

Felix pauses and looks down at his hands, stretching his fingers.

“There are people depending on me playing this well,” he adds after a moment. “I can’t let Hyunjin fall again.”

“Hey, I know you’re going to do great,” Chan tries to sound as reassuring as he possibly can. “Really! You know what? I’ll come see you play!”

Felix blinks. “What?”

“Yeah! When’s the big day?” Chan pushes himself off the couch, gathering the dirty dishes to bring them to the kitchen. “Tell me where to get tickets and I’ll be there for sure. To support you, and all.”

“You really d—”

“Stop right there,” Chan raises a brow at him from the kitchen. “You’re not inconveniencing me with it, I’m _offering_ to do things. I want to go see you play—if you let me?”

“Right,” Felix scratches the back of his neck. “Of course you can come. If you want. I—uhm, I can get you a ticket. If you want.”

Chan thinks it is surely god’s doing that his knees don’t buckle right then and there, in the most embarrassing fashion his body could muster. When he doesn’t answer, Felix ventures into a room in the back of the apartment, coming out a few moments later with two pieces of paper in hand.

“The show is in about two months, so you still have time to give up if you think it’s a bad idea,” he gives Chan a small ticket, and Chan can’t look away from where it says, _‘The Korean Ballet Theatre presents: Moonlight Sonata’._ “And here is my number… for the next time you want to stop by?”

Chan is so entranced by the embossed _FL_ on the back of the card he doesn’t even turn it around to actually see the numbers printed on it. His heart is beating so hard in his ribcage he could think he is going into cardiac arrest, and there is certainly a ringing in his ears that hadn’t been there a minute ago. He runs his thumbs over the papers, feeling too dumbstruck to even say anything.

Felix laughs nervously. “Is this too weird?”

“No!” Felix’s nervousness is enough to snap him out of it, and he flinches at the volume of his own words. “No, it’s cool. Thanks! I’ll—uhm, I’ll text you! And stuff!”

“Cool,” Felix says with a smile. Chan is so fucked.

“I should get going,” Chan thumbs towards the door, even if he doesn’t really want to go. “It’s pretty late, and you need to rest.”

“You go and get some rest, too,” Felix nods. “Thanks for keeping me company tonight. It was actually pretty nice.”

“Thanks for letting me stay,” he replies. “I hope it wasn’t too weird.”

Felix walks him to the door, and there is a weird pause as Chan slips into his slides and steps out of the apartment. He looks completely worn out, with sagging shoulders and sunken dark circles, but Chan wonders if he is imagining the very slight but still noticeable tension hovering around them. It immediately breaks when Felix's face splits into a smile, and he tries not to feel too disappointed.

“Goodnight, Chan.”

Chan smiles as well.

“Goodnight.”

• • •

If one were to tell the Chan of weeks ago that he would find himself with the most ridiculous crush on, quite possibly, the cutest boy he has ever met, he would probably laugh at their face and say he has no time for it. That statement still holds true, kind of – he doesn’t _have_ time for it, but Felix keeps texting him at the oddest hours of the day and he always finds himself pocketing some of his non-existent time to text him back.

And so, the roots of his crush keep on growing.

He didn’t mean for this to happen. Chan did want to meet the mysterious pianist in his building, _sure,_ but the whole infatuation part is… well. It’s not like Felix makes it hard to like him; truly, if Chan had to describe him to anyone else, it would be something along the lines of what the great Natasha Bedingfield once said – _a pocketful of sunshine._

_(“Gross,”_ is what Changbin tells him over the phone when he says it for the first time. Chan can hear Minho fake retching next to him.)

After showing up at his apartment uninvited and scoring both a free ticket and Felix's number that night, it took Chan a cold shower and several glasses of water to feel confident enough to actually send him a text. Felix seemed shy to text at first; much like their offline encounters, he didn’t seem too sure of what to say despite being the one with the balls to give the other his number.

That seemingly shyness doesn’t last long.

Felix seems to bloom out of his shell with each exchanged message. They don’t find time to meet up again in between their busy schedules, and though it isn’t entirely surprising, they also don’t seem to bump into each other. Felix jokingly tells him he is setting up camp in the studio and the theater until after the play; Chan doesn’t think he is joking at all.

Having never been to a ballet, Chan bombards Felix with questions the day before on what he is supposed to wear. Felix seems mildly entertained by his distress despite the sparse texts, going so far as to saying he would surely look good even if he didn’t wear anything at all.

(Felix tells him to settle for a nice suit so he won’t feel too out of place among the crowd of snobs that usually go to ballets. Chan chooses to completely ignore the idea that Felix has imagined him naked.)

When Felix mentioned a _crowd_ of snobs, Chan thought he was only half-joking. Now that he stands in the entrance hall of the theater, he feels relieved he got out of his way to polish his shoes and style his hair and spray on his most expensive cologne for the night. Chan isn’t unfamiliar with the motions of rubbing elbows with important people – he has a lot to thank grad school for, but this is nothing like the situations he has found himself in before.

But this is fine. _This,_ he surely can do. It’s not like he has to talk to anyone apart from hushed _excuse mes_ to get to a good seat.

He had tried asking Felix what would be the prime location in the theater to watch the play but never really got a reply. Not that he expected one, really, because Felix told him at a little past two in the morning that his phone would likely be off the entire day. Chan pretended he wasn’t bummed out by the information, and instead sent him a cheerful _okay! break a leg, or something_ _😊_ and tried to get his mind to stop reeling so he could fall asleep.

The lights go out and Chan’s heart skips a beat. As the curtains draw open and the lights fade in, he is struck by a terribly sense of familiarity; he isn’t close enough to the stage to see details, but he is sure he has seen the dancer poised on stage before. Chan squints, like doing that is going to make him see any better, and just as his brain engines start turning, the first notes of the song he has become so familiar with resonate through space and all his thoughts fade away.

Just like the song Chan has watched Felix play for hours, the opening act feels just as dramatic. Chan remembers the way Felix’s fingers glided over the keys and hit every note with practiced precision; likewise, the dancers on stage move through every step with stunning grace, like they move along with the strings of the piano.

He follows the play on the edge of his seat. He wishes he could see Felix playing right now, wishes he could insert him on stage and give him the spotlight. As the tempo speeds up and the storyline progresses, Chan finds himself unable to breathe.

He doesn’t realize he has been crying until Felix hits the last notes and the crowd erupts into cheers. Chan springs to his feet, applauding the duo bowing in reverence until his hands hurt. He brings the sleeves of his suit up to his eyes to dab the tears away just in time to see the dancers motion to the side of the stage; Chan follows with his eyes and his face splits into the biggest smile as Felix walks in.

The crowd cheers again as Felix bows to them, and though he highly doubts Felix can even spot him among so many people, Chan still makes sure to cheer the loudest. The staff bring them flowers, and as they bow several other times, Chan tries to think again just where he has seen the blond dancer before.

He thinks it might have been on campus, or in one of his classes. He _knows_ he has seen these features before. If only he were closer and able to see just a little bit better.

Chan makes his way back to the entrance hall as the curtains draw closed, to where a small stand sells bouquets of flowers for the dancers performing tonight. He buys a small one colored orange and yellow that he hopes Felix will like, and heads further into the venue. He can’t help the way his hands get kind of clammy as he squeezes past friends and family that greet the dancers still covered in glitter, nor the way his heart immediately starts beating faster the moment he spots Felix’s head on blond hair in the crowd.

Felix meets him halfway, pulling him aside to a less crowded spot with a smile so bright it could put the sun to shame.

“You made it,” is what Felix says to greet him, sounding completely exhilarated.

Chan’s lips tug into a smile. “Of course I did,” he says, bringing the flowers up to eye level. “Uhm, these are for you. I wasn’t sure if I was supposed to get you any or if you like them, but—I feel like you deserve it. You were amazing tonight.”

“Oh,” Felix blinks, surprised as he takes the flowers from his hold. “Thank you. Thank you for these, too.”

“Of course,” Chan laughs, scratching the back of his neck. He can feel warmth spreading on his skin. “I told you you’d do great and that there was no need for you to worry. Not to be embarrassing about it but I was really moved, it was just so b—”

“Hey, would you like to go out for dinner with me tonight?”

Chan snaps his mouth shut the second Felix’s words register in his brain. There is heat on his face and his hands are kind of sweating, and Felix’s eyes are so beautiful—

“Yeah,” he answers with a smile before the sudden silence between them gets awkward. “I’d really like that.”

Felix disappears into the crowd for a few minutes, coming back with his bag slung over his shoulder and a bounce on his step. Chan takes them to his car, and it’s five minutes into the ride when they finally settle for an Italian restaurant that isn’t too far from their building. He knows the place well, and he admits he feels a little too excited to be taking Felix there.

He doesn’t know what it is about asking for a table for two that has him so giddy on his feet. Felix follows him just a couple steps behind, and it doesn’t go unnoticed the way his fingers keep brushing against the sleeve of Chan’s suit, like he is trying to hold onto it. The waitress takes them to a more reserved corner of the restaurant and leaves them alone with a practiced smile, and then Chan’s heart feels like it is pouring over the table.

The night is a delight. He didn’t expect it to be any less, but with Felix looking so happy and satisfied with himself over the results of the night, his personality seems to shine tenfold, and it easily rubs off on him. Felix laughs at his every joke, keeps the conversation going without fail, and makes sure to ask back everything Chan asks him about himself.

Chan learns Felix is still a student despite his high position in the ballet company, getting his degree in Music Theory just to tack it along his curriculum. Chan thinks it’s kind of funny how they never really crossed paths on campus, but at the same time, not quite; their departments are in complete opposite directions from one another, and Chan has never had a reason to go to the music department, and neither has Felix found one to go to the languages building.

Felix tells Chan it’s admirable that he has the energy to go to grad school after going through the hell that is college, and Chan is only a little hot around the collar when he says it is more about his passion for teaching than for learning. Grad school is, indeed, a nightmare, but he doesn’t think he would have it any other way.

Chan tries to tell himself he is one hundred percent imagining the stars in Felix’s eyes.

It is close to midnight when Chan parks his car in their building. The high-strung conversation has since dwindled down to a mellow quietness, exhaustion finally settling in after such a packed day. Chan walks Felix to his apartment, a hand on his lower back to help him stay steady on his feet.

Felix presses in his password, humming to himself when the lock beeps open, hitting the lights on before he walks inside. Chan stays glued to his place by the door, clearly not invited to come inside this time, and there is a small smile on his face that he can’t seem to wipe off when Felix turns around and smiles at him – bright, quiet.

“Thank you for tonight,” Felix says, clutching the flowers close to his chest. “For coming, for dinner—I had a really good time.”

“Well, I’m glad you did,” Chan’s smile brightens just a bit. “I had a really good time, too.”

Felix steps closer, and Chan is sure he isn’t imagining the way his eyes fall on his lips. Chan licks them out of instinct, and when Felix does the same, he knows exactly what is coming next. Another step and Chan holds his breath; Felix’s hand is light when he brings it up to rest on his chest, fingers delicate when he runs them down the lapels of his coat.

Chan raises a tentative hand to Felix’s cheek, and when Felix leans into the touch, he doesn’t hesitate to lean in. Felix meets him halfway, lips slotting perfectly against his, moist and soft and Chan swears he can feel sparks under his skin when they kiss. The moment is short-lived, no more than a soft peck that Felix regrettably pulls back too fast from, but the smile he has on when Chan looks at him again is enough telling that the move wasn’t a mistake.

His cheeks are dusted pink under his freckles, the tips of his ears even brighter when he sighs. Chan can’t stop staring at him, at the way his lashes bat with every slow blink, the way the corners of his mouth tug up into a wider smile. Chan is a goner, and there is no denying it now.

“Goodnight, Chan,” Felix whispers, leaning into his door like his feet can no longer hold him up.

Chan giggles, quick enough that it isn’t too embarrassing.

“Goodnight,” he replies, almost bouncing on his step when he walks away from the now closed door behind him.

• • •

Chan wakes up Saturday morning with constant buzzing from his phone, tucked under his pillow and plugged into the charger. It takes him a second to finally come to it – the sky past his blinds looks as gloomy as it can be, and he can’t imagine it is any later than ten. He stifles a yawn into his pillow, stretching his toes and sluggishly rubbing sleep off his eyes with the heels of his hands before finally reaching for the device.

He is met with a couple texts from his mother and siblings and a chain of texts from Changbin, who demands a better explanation of the events from the night before than what he had been offered. He is halfway through typing a reply when his screen cuts to an incoming facetime call, Minho’s contact picture greeting him. Chan throws a spare blanket over his head to hide his bed hair and hits answer.

_“What do you mean you kissed him?”_ is Minho’s greeting before Chan even has the chance to say hello. Changbin pops his head into view soon after, clearly still as sleepy as Chan himself.

“Do you know how early it is?” Chan groans, turning on his side and closing his eyes again. “I don’t wan to see you both together in bed.”

_“Boohoo. It’s nine. Now, answer the question!”_ Changbin says, voice thick with sleep.

“Technically, he kissed me,” Chan offers. “Like, we met halfway? He totally initiated it though, I’m sure I’m not making that up. I think.”

_“God, you’re finally going to get some dick,”_ Minho passes the phone to Changbin, stretching his limbs like a cat. Chan can feel his face warming up and has to resist the urge to hang up on his friends.

“Can you not say it like that? It was _one_ kiss,” Chan sighs. “And it hasn’t been that long!”

There’s a pause as Changbin stares at him for a few seconds.

_“Right. We’re totally coming over today and you’re opening the door for us.”_

“My biggest regret is teaching you how to buzz yourselves in.”

_“Sure it is,”_ Minho laughs. _“We’re going now. Bye!”_

The call disconnects and Chan considers the pros and cons of going back to sleep. Knowing he won’t be able to even if he tries his best, he opts for getting off bed and making himself a fresh cup of coffee.

It is a little after ten when his phone buzzes again, this time with a good morning message from Felix, a cute emoji attached with it. Chan can’t really help himself when he smiles over the rim of his second coffee mug, fingers quickly typing an appropriate response. When asked what are his plans for the day, Felix lets him know he will probably be staying in unless an (unlikely) emergency happens.

Chan gets on his feet without texting him back. He is sure the pile of papers he has pending to write for his grad classes can wait another day if they have waited this long already.

Showered, shaved, and bathed in cologne, Chan knocks on Felix’s door and waits. His phone buzzes with a new message, Felix’s contact reading _r u at the door..?_ , to which he replies with a smiley face and locks his phone again. He can hear a loud crash coming from inside the apartment, Felix’s deep voice echoing a hearty _fuck_ moments before the lock beeps open.

Felix, clearly still in his pajamas, seems almost out of breath when he throws the door open. Chan knows he should have sent a heads up – that’s pretty much the reason why Felix gave him his number in the first place, no? – but he feels that, after last night’s events, he is allowed to pay him a surprise visit.

Or so he hopes.

“Hi,” Chan says with a wave of his hand and a smile on his lips.

“Hi!” Felix’s eyes are almost as big as saucers, light pink coloring his skin under his freckles. “What are you doing here?”

Chan gapes for a second, a little at a loss for words. That if definitely not the reaction he had been expecting.

“Uh,” he scratches the back of his neck, suddenly embarrassed. What _is_ he doing there? He doesn’t really know. “Bad timing?”

“No!” Felix is quick to clarify, as if he can read right through him. Maybe he can. “Not at all, I’m just—surprised. I would’ve, you know,” he gestures to himself, pointing out the fact that he is still in his pajamas, “changed, at least, if you’d told me.”

“Thought you’d like to hang out? I don’t mind waiting if you want to change,” he pauses. “I can leave, too, if this isn’t a good time.”

“No, it’s cool, I—"

Chan can’t see much of the apartment from where he is standing, but he knows he hears noise coming from inside, and he definitely isn’t making things up in his head when someone else comes into view. Time almost seems to slow down; he knows he has seen this person before, and it clicks when they look up to talk to Felix. Chan recognizes him as the boy who almost bumped into him all these weeks ago on his way out of the building, the same red scarf he had been wearing now in his hands.

When he speaks, however, Chan’s blood runs cold.

“Baby, have you seen my jacket?” are the words that come out of his mouth. Chan knows he didn’t hear it wrong, can read them on his lips as he looks up from his hands to the back of Felix’s head, seemingly unaware of Chan’s presence at the door.

Felix looks at the boy, then back at Chan, mouth hanging open like his voice is caught in his throat.

“Oh.” Chan can’t seem to find his voice either. “Well, this is awkward.”

“No,” Felix’s voice is but a whisper struggling to get out; or maybe it is the ringing in his ears making it difficult for him to hear, he doesn’t really know. “Wait, this isn’t—”

“I think I should leave.” He stumbles a couple steps back, turning on his heels and quickly pacing away from the door. His heart is pounding in his chest and his ears, and the nausea he’s starting to feel sure isn’t from having too much coffee.

“Chan, wait!”

But he doesn’t wait. He doesn’t look back, goes for the stairs instead of waiting for the elevator, climbing up to his floor two steps at a time. He doesn’t know if Felix is following him, but when he closes the door to his apartment with a heavy sigh and a knock doesn’t come, he supposes he didn’t.

“So what you’re saying is that he has a boyfriend,” Changbin asks for what feels like the millionth time, taking a swig from his beer.

“How many times do I have to say yes?” Chan buries himself deeper into his couch, beer going warm in his hands. “And he’s like, fucking gorgeous, too.”

“Why are you the one feeling guilty, then?” Minho asks, brows drawing into a furrow. “Are you hearing yourself?”

“I mean, I’m the one who made a move?”

“This doesn’t add up,” Changbin adds. “Didn’t you say earlier he went in to kiss you first?”

Chan miserably sips on his beer. “I guess.”

Changbin hums.

“From what you’ve told us, he doesn’t really seem like the type of guy who would… cheat on his partner.”

“I think you should talk to him. Like, be straightforward and all that.” Minho digs the mouth of his bottle into his ribs, making him squirm in place. “You’re good at fixing things, you know this. Don’t be a fucking coward.”

“Can we talk about something else?” Chan pleads with a whine.

They try to insist, but eventually drop the topic. Chan doesn’t want to think about his phone, turned off since he got back home and tucked under his pillow; out of sight, out of mind. Instead, he asks Minho about his sleeve, recently finished off by Changbin’s skilled hands and just freshly healed.

“When are you going to let me ink you?” Changbin questions, just like he does at least once a month.

“Soon,” Chan promises, though they both know it isn’t quite a promise. Next to him, Minho scoffs because he knows better. Changbin only rolls his eyes. “No, I swear! Just let me decide on something, and also get less busy.”

“We’ll do it like this,” Changbin points his beer bottle right at his face. _“I_ decide on a design for you and _you_ come up with the time. See? One less thing on your list. And if you keep fucking around I’m gonna show up at your door in the middle of the night with a gun and ink and then you won’t be able to use that excuse anymore.”

“You know he’s gonna do it.”

_“Fine!_ Fine,” he sighs. “I trust you to make me something cool, _I guess.”_

“You _guess?”_ Changbin laughs, tugging at Minho's arm and pushing the sleeve of his sweater up, revealing the snake that curls around his arm and the Japanese flowers perfectly inked into his skin. “Look at this babe right here and say that again.”

The bickering goes well into the night, and although Chan threatens to throw them out when they start sucking face after the fourth or fifth beer like he isn’t even in the room, he is more than happy to have them over. They don’t get to hang out like this very often – adulthood usually gets in the way and their schedules are hard to match, but things are nice like this.

Chan offers them his bed and takes the couch after they promise not to fuck on his sheets. Sleep doesn’t come easy and, the moment he closes his eyes, his mind starts wandering again. If he goes to sleep thinking of Felix, he makes no mention of it the following morning.

His friends, bless their hearts, don’t ask any more questions.

• • •

Chan walks into his classroom and immediately feels the urge to get out. There, sitting on the very first row, front and center, is the boy Chan bumped into in his building – the one who had been in Felix’s apartment and had called him _baby._ Chan stares for a second too long, enough to realize that he is, in fact, the ballet dancer he’d thought he recognized the week before.

Chan averts his gaze just as the boy looks up. He settles down, sets the projector up, and starts his lecture without much of a fuss. The thing is – he can feel eyes on him. Not in a way one would while teaching a lecture, because that much is obvious given his position right now, but in the way you just know someone is unrelenting on staring at you.

Time seems to drag itself as slowly as possible; it is either that, or Chan is simply talking too fast. Literary criticism isn’t a particularly exciting topic to talk about, but his students don’t ask him to slow down so, he doesn’t. He finishes the lecture with half an hour to spare, and he honestly feels like he is suffocating.

“I know we’re all sick and tired of classics,” he says as he takes a seat on his desk, the students’ groaning a confirmation of his statement, “but, for this week, I want you to pick a classic of your choice and make an analysis comparing it to today’s societal values. I’m giving you as much freedom to work with it as I can, but please keep to structures and use your brains for it.”

The loud groaning is to be expected but it settles soon after, the noise being replaced by the sound of rustling paper sheets and fingers furiously tapping on keyboards. Chan, for one, starts going through the papers from the week before, graded over his Sunday headache and caffeine high once Minho and Changbin left his apartment.

As he starts handing the papers out, he can still feel eyes boring holes into his skull. He quickly looks up just to make sure it isn’t all in his head – sure enough, blond pretty boy is staring very intently at him still, brows drawn into a light furrow. Chan clears his throat and looks back down at the papers, the back of his neck burning a little.

“Hwang Hyunjin,” he calls out, lifting his gaze from the 98/100 to the classroom, mouth running dry when blond boy gets up from his chair. Chan only has a few seconds to collect himself before Hyunjin is standing right in front of him, fingers gripping the edges of the paper. “You did great, but maybe next time don’t write _‘Satan and his possy’_ or _‘the Mean Girls of the afterlife’._ Congratulations.”

“Thanks. Uhm,” Chan looks up at him, noticing the intense staring has been replaced by a mask of nervousness that has Hyunjin biting the inside of his lips. “Chan—sir? Can we talk after class?”

“Sure,” he doesn’t know how long his professional façade can last. “Did you have any questions about the material from today?”

“No, the class was fine, it’s—” Hyunjin sighs. “There seems to have been a misunderstanding.”

Oh no. He doesn’t want to do this right now.

Abort mission. _Abort mission._

“Are you unsatisfied with your grade?”

“Felix has been trying to reach out to you,” Hyunjin goes straight to the point, and Chan _really_ doesn’t think he can deal with all this right now. “I need to talk to you because you seem to have gotten this all wrong.”

Chan sighs, rubbing a hand over his tired eyes. “Okay. We can go somewhere else after class if you have time.”

“I’ll meet you at the stairs to the library,” Hyunjin says with a nod and goes back to his seat.

Well, there is only so much that can go wrong, right?

Chan waits a while after dismissing his students before making his way to the library. He checks his phone, guilt stirring in his stomach at the red badge of unread messages on Felix’s contact but feeling too embarrassed to open it all the same. He walks at stroll pace, not too excited to hear whatever it is Hyunjin has to tell him – there is no way he could’ve misread that situation.

Right?

When he rounds the last corner, he finds Hyunjin already standing there, waiting for him. He isn’t alone, though; standing next to him and looking like he would rather be anywhere else but here, is a boy Chan doesn’t recognize, fingers nervously tapping against his thigh as he chats idly with the other. Chan approaches with careful steps, trying to keep his composure and taking deep breaths.

There is no reason for him to be nervous.

“Hey,” he greets Hyunjin first, mostly because he feels like he should. The other boy, definitely shorter than him, gives him a careful (and not so discreet) once-over. “What is it you wanted to talk about?”

“I want you to meet someone,” Hyunjin says, almost somber, tugging on the other boy’s hand and making him stumble over his feet. “Jisung, this is the infamous Chan, my Literary Studies professor. Chan, this is Jisung,” he points right at the boy’s face, “my boyfriend.”

“Oh, so _you’re_ the one,” Jisung says, nodding mostly to himself.

Chan blanks.

“What?”

“Like I said, there seems to have been a misunderstanding.” Hyunjin links his arm with Jisung’s. “Felix and I share the apartment, you see.”

Chan does not see.

“I’ve never seen you around, though?”

“I know,” he agrees. “I hadn’t been home much because I’d spend most of my free time at the studio practicing for the play – Felix told me you were there.”

He was, and he did see Hyunjin dance, and it was one of the most beautiful things he has ever witnessed in his life.

“I’d often sleep at Jisung’s, since he lives closer to the studio than we do,” Hyunjin continues when Chan doesn’t say anything. “So it makes sense that you didn’t really see me around. And, trust me, knowing that I live in the same building as my professor, isn’t it only natural that I’d avoid you like the plague? No offense.”

“None taken.” He, too, would avoid a student at all costs outside his classroom if he could help it.

“I wasn’t talking to Felix on Saturday. You couldn’t see him, but Jisung was like, right there, and you didn’t really wait for Felix to say anything, did you?”

“No offense, dude, but you were kind of a dick,” Jisung interjects, an apologetic smile on his face.

“In fact, you’re still being one,” Hyunjin pauses, blinks, as if suddenly aware of his own words, and quickly adds, “sir. Please down lower my grades because of this.”

“I wouldn’t do that,” Chan frowns. “Even if you were… _dating_ Felix, your academic life has nothing to do with it.”

Hyunjin shrugs. “I don’t know, man. I called Ms. Choi from Psychotherapy a cunt under my breath and she accidentally heard it, and my grades went to shit. I had to drop the class because I didn’t want to fail.”

“Okay, let me see if I understand this. You’re not actually dating Felix.”

Hyunjin shakes his head no.

“I really just fucked up?”

“I mean, you can still fix it if you, like,” Hyunjin gestures vaguely, “talk to him.”

“Right. Uh,” he scratches his head, trying to take everything in. “Do you want a ride home?”

Hyunjin gives him a crooked smile. “It sure would be better than riding the bus.”

Chan turns to Jisung. “You need a ride too?”

“I’m cool, thanks,” Jisung shakes his head. “Still have classes for the day.” He turns to Hyunjin, pulling him down for a quick peck on the lips. “Tell Felix I said hi. I’ll talk to you later.”

Hyunjin nods and sends him off with another quick kiss, watching his retreating back with so much fondness in his eyes Chan is starting to wonder how he could’ve ever thought he and Felix were together. To be fair, he didn’t really know any of this was a thing; he wouldn’t ever consider one of his students lived in the same building as him, let alone share an apartment with his—

Crush.

He still doesn’t know what to call it.

The ride home is a silent one. Chan could probably call it awkward if he wanted, but Hyunjin seems comfortable enough in the passenger’s seat as he scrolls through his phone that it doesn’t feel quite like. He could try to strike conversation, sure, but he has other things in mind.

Like, for example, Felix’s unread messages on his phone, the way he tried calling out for him on Saturday, the way his friends were completely right that it didn’t add up.

Oh, they are so not going to let him live this down.

“You know, Felix is probably home right now,” Hyunjin says once they stop at the parking lot, not really looking at him when he speaks. “I’ll let you in if you wanna talk to him.”

“I’m not sure I should come over unannounced.” _Again_ goes unsaid.

“I’ll take the blame for it if needed,” Hyunjin pats his thigh twice, and Chan doesn’t know what to think of the sudden gesture. It is weirdly comforting. “I just really need him to stop sulking as soon as possible.”

One elevator ride and a corridor of silence after, Chan finds himself staring at the back of Hyunjin’s head as he types their passcode in. He still isn’t sure this is a good idea – he should’ve at least texted Felix back, told him he was stopping by, or something along the lines. Despite all that Hyunjin has told him, he isn’t even sure Felix wants to see him again.

“Oh, by the way,” Hyunjin drops his voice to a whisper. “He doesn’t know I talked to you about this.”

“What?!” Chan whispers back, alarmed. Hyunjin doesn’t answer as he opens the door.

“Felix!” he loudly calls out. “I hope you have your pants on, ‘cause there’s someone here to see you!”

Hyunjin lets himself into the apartment, and Chan can’t help but hover awkwardly by the door. He can hear porcelain and metal clattering on the kitchen sink, a noise of curiosity following as bare feet pat quickly on the floor. When Felix comes into view, he is wearing the same pair of pajamas he had been wearing the last time Chan saw him, now with a fresh-looking orange stain near the hem of his shirt.

To say he looks surprised to see Chan there is an understatement.

“Oh,” he says, just as softly as he had the last time.

“I’ll be in my room!” Hyunjin announces, quickly removing himself from the situation and locking his – Chan supposes – bedroom door.

Chan offers an awkward smile. “Hi?”

“Hi,” Felix blinks. “What are you doing here?”

This feels too much like déjà vu.

“I think I owe you an apology.” Chan points past his shoulder. “Can I come in?”

The door creaks on its hinges, like it is protesting against Felix opening it any wider than it currently is. Chan toes his shoes off and stands by the side, waiting for Felix to make his way back into the apartment so he can follow him. Felix, however, doesn’t move from the door; he seems as unsure as Chan feels.

It feels like he is walking on eggshells. Or a minefield.

“Sorry for the way I acted last weekend,” he starts. It is better to just rip off the bandaid. “I know I should’ve waited for you to at least say something.”

“Yeah,” Felix agrees, and Chan feels grateful that he isn’t trying to act like it was an okay thing to do. “That wasn’t very mature of you.”

“I know,” Chan sighs. “I know. I’m sorry.”

“I’ve been waiting for you to text me back,” Chan can hear him trying to keep the sadness out of his voice. “I wanted to—I don’t know. Explain myself isn’t the word, because I didn’t do anything wrong, but you just—”

“Acted like a dick,” he thinks of the way Jisung had looked at him back by the library, and thinks the words are perfectly fitting. It feels so awkward to have this conversation standing, but he doesn’t blame Felix for not wanting to get too comfortable. “I just didn’t know. Looking from the outside, it seemed—”

“Like Hyunjin was talking to me?” Felix laughs, rolling his eyes. “I figured pretty soon that’s what you thought, but that’s not why I’m upset. I’m upset that you thought I’d cheat on my boyfriend with a hot neighbor.”

“You think I’m hot?”

“Is that what you’re going to choose to focus on?” Felix crosses his arms over his chest, raising a brow at him. “Really?”

“No! No, of course not,” Chan backtracks, sighing heavily. “Please forgive me? I know I fucked up, I want to fix things. I’m kind of really into you, and I want to work this out.”

“I mean,” Felix’s shoulders sag, letting his guard down for a second. “I was really hoping you didn’t give flowers to just anyone.”

He groans. “Please, that was embarrassing.”

“It was cute,” Felix smiles. “I really liked it.”

Chan holds his breath, licking his lips out of nervousness. His heart is thundering in his chest, and he can definitely feel his hands sweating, and he isn’t one to get nervous this easily, but.

Felix is really fucking cute, and funny, and smart, and everything Chan likes on a person.

He never really stood a chance.

“Would you like to go on a date?” Chan almost has to force the words out, holding back the nervous laughter that bubbles up his chest. “And maybe try this again?”

He thinks Felix’s face is going to split in half with how hard he smiles.

“I think I’d really like that,” he answers, and Chan finally feels like he can breathe a little easier. “Meet you in an hour?”

He nods.

“Sounds good to me.”

“Why are you calling me from bed again?” Chan can feel tiredness seeping into his bones, sleep heavy in his eyes. The clock reads 11:23 P.M. He thinks he should get better friends.

_“Would you rather see us fucking instead?”_ Minho says with a raise of his brow, pulling the sheets over his very clearly bare shoulder. _“We can arrange that and have you over some day if that’s what you’re into.”_

“You don’t have to be so crass.”

_“Let’s cut to the chase because we all want to sleep,”_ Changbin butts in. _“So, pretty boy has a boyfriend that is not Felix?”_

“Yeah, he does.”

_“And Felix wouldn’t cheat on his partner with his ‘hot neighbor’”_ he adds, air quotes and all.

Chan can’t help but sigh. “You really want to hear me saying you were right, don’t you?”

Minho's smile is absolutely cocky when he says, _“oh, we do. I think that’s the least we deserve for offering our shoulders for you to cry on.”_

“First of all, I didn’t cry,” he protests, only slightly offended, ignoring the way Changbin says _well, we don’t know that_ under his breath. “But I’ll let you have this just this once. You were right. There, are you happy now?”

_“As long as you’re okay,”_ Changbin says, and the one-eighty in tone gives Chan whiplash. _“You know that’s all we want for you.”_

_“And for you to get your dick wet,”_ Minho adds with a laugh, his eyes slitting into crescents.

_“And for you to get your dick wet,”_ Changbin nods solemnly, breaking the mood as quickly as he’d set it.

“I’m never letting you two into my apartment again,” his tone is all but exasperated.

_“You love us!”_

“Goodbye!”

Chan ends the call to the sound of the both of them laughing, and he can’t even pretend to be mad at them. He sends a quick message into their group chat just so they know he isn’t really mad, though he knows it isn’t necessary because they know him well enough. He is about to lock his phone and allow his body to succumb to sleep when it buzzes in his hand, Felix’s contact sending in a new message.

Chan doesn’t hesitate to open it, and when he does, he wonders if he’s fallen asleep without noticing. Simple and direct, with no emoji attached to it, he reads the message a thousand times as it says,

_Can I come in?_

**Author's Note:**

> this was very experimental for me seeing as i never write humor lmao thank you for reading! i'd love to know what you think ❤️
> 
> you can find me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/changminize) and [curiouscat](https://curiouscat.me/changminize)


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